


blood in the snow

by jellijeans



Category: Project Triangle Strategy (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Keep Roland Safe Route, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, speculative fic, spoilers for the demo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29601813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellijeans/pseuds/jellijeans
Summary: The scene is still fresh in his mind—the last time he had seen the king alive, he had sworn to himself that he would find a way to rescue him, and then he had failed. House Wolffort was supposed to be the sword and shield of the royal family, and he had succeeded at neither. Whatever blood stained Frederica’s hands dripped through his fingers first.
Relationships: Serenoa Wolffort/Frederica Aesfrost
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	blood in the snow

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first time i've written fanfic for a game Before The Game Has Come Out but team asano games rlly do be doing this to me huh! i see a game produced by team asano and i simply go fucking crazy! established relationships also make me just go absolutely bonkers so somehow me writing this as the first serenoa/frederica fic is not even a little surprising to me lmao! thanks to blackie for enabling me on this one! i am posting this at 12:30 am
> 
> as this is very much a speculative fic for a game that isn't supposed to come out til next year, hopefully this is still fairly in character lmao!! perhaps i will rewrite this once the game is actually out and i have a better grasp on their characters

“My lord—Serenoa, I—”

Frederica is rubbing her eyes with the base of her palms, hair messy, exhausted, tears streaking down her face. He has rarely seen her in a state like this, awake in the middle of a night, standing at his door in her nightgown like a frightened child might to a parent. Serenoa pulls her into his arms without even thinking, feeling the moment she breaks against him, sobbing into his shoulder, holding him like she would lose him if she lets go.

(In a way, he supposes, that’s true; the wedding went like that, after all. Now the king is dead, they are still unmarried, and what is there to show for it?)

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, running a hand through her hair. It’s tangled—she usually keeps it perfectly maintained. He knows she’s hurting. He wishes he could do something, _anything,_ more than just holding her, but it’s not up to him. He’s partially the cause of this mess. It was his decision to burn Wolffort; his people are safe and General Avlora is spurned, but only for now, and Aesfrost will strike back harder the next time. It weighs on him, sears through his chest, burns his lungs and leaves him suffocating. He can only imagine what it’s like for Frederica, whose own brother is the cause of this, and would rather let herself die than have anyone else lose anything at all. “I know it’s not what you wanted. It was the only thing I could think to do.”

“I know, and we managed to keep Roland safe, but—Wolffort, its people—my _brother_ —”

Ah, there it is. The source of her distress, the source of everything. Of Whiteholm falling, of the murder of the king and of the crown prince, right before their eyes, of Ser Maxwell’s death. Gustadolph.

(The image of her in her dress, snow white and beautiful, their life outstretched before them, a symbol of their new world and of peace flits to the front of his mind and then shatters, another casualty of Gustadolph’s invasion. He remembers how she had wept over its tattered remains later, the powerlessness of knowing their future would have to wait. Gustadolph’s reference to him as his _dear sister’s husband-to-be_ in Whiteholm had tasted like bile in this throat as he had breathed it in, each word catching on his lungs on the way down.)

“It’s not your fault.” Frederica sobs against his chest. His heart aches. He wishes he could make her pain go away, bring her the peace she deserves. He cannot. Reassurances are the best he can offer, futile as they may be against Frederica’s ironclad will, so determined to fix things herself, so ready to blame herself when she cannot. “You had no control over your brother, nor his actions. Hughette should not have said what she did. The actions of the Aesfrosti army—they are not yours to control. Please do not blame yourself, my lady.”

“I should have stopped him.”

“There was nothing you could have done.”

“I need to know _why,_ ” she whispers. “I need to know why our siblings did not stop him. I need to know why he would throw away the peace we had worked so long to attain. Prince Roland... he and his family did not deserve this. The king’s life is on my hands.”

“We will find a way to atone,” he says. The scene is still fresh in his mind—the last time he had seen the king alive, he had sworn to himself that he would find a way to rescue him, and then he had failed. House Wolffort was supposed to be the sword and shield of the royal family, and he had succeeded at neither. Whatever blood stained Frederica’s hands dripped through his fingers first. “The prince is safe. It begins there. We will find a way to make this right, and we will find out what has overtaken your brother.” He takes her hand, guides her into his chambers for some greater morsel of privacy than what the hall offers them, watches as she places herself on the side of his bed and stares at the floor.

“And if we do not?” Her voice shakes as she ponders the question. “What if we fail? If Aesfrost claims Glenbrook, and then Hyzante soon after? My brother may spare me; he will not spare you. At worst, he will frame our betrothal as House Wolffort stealing me from Aesfrost, and he will have you and your people destroyed. What then?”

“Benedict would tell me there is no use in pondering what-ifs, if I asked him that,” Serenoa says. He takes Frederica’s hand and kisses the back of it, takes a moment to revel in her touch, her magic-scarred palms and delicate fingers, normally hidden beneath her gloves. It is a wonder something so warm could come from somewhere so bitterly cold. “We have made our decision. I will stand by Prince Roland no matter what it takes, and I will do so without sacrificing Wolffort or my people further. If that makes us an enemy of Aesfrost, so be it. We will return Norzelia to peace.” He smiles, does not miss the way Frederica lifts her hand to his jaw, cradling his cheek and tilting his gaze up towards her. “At least, that is what my father would say, I think.”

“He would be proud of you.”

Her gaze is clearer now than it was before, less marred by tears. He turns, kisses the inside of her palm, before releasing it and joining her on his bed, resting his head on her shoulder.

“My lady—Frederica—I hope you know you are my solace, throughout all of this,” he says quietly, taking her hand. “I cannot promise to know what the days ahead will contain, but if I can face them with you by my side, that will be enough.”

She squeezes his hand back, and he can feel her ring—iron, worth its weight in gold, more precious than diamonds, the thrumming metal lifeblood of Aesfrost—against his fingers.

“That is all I desire,” she responds, voice gentle. “That will be enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! come yell with me on twitter at @jellijeans !!!


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